Take Me With You
by queen-sheep
Summary: "It only takes one person to touch another; one infected person to touch a clean one, and it's transmitted. Take that, and multiply it by who knows how many times, and there's nothing that can be done anymore." Molly, Arthur


Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition - Season 2 - Round 3.

* * *

_It starts with one. _

_One person, in one country, at one time contracts it. And then, from there, it spreads from fathers, to mothers, to daughters, to sons, to airplanes on flights all across the globe. It doesn't stop, and it won't stop, until every single place in the world is covered. _

_It was only a matter of time before it got to them._

-X-

As a general consensus, the Wizarding population didn't pay much attention to Muggle affairs. Of course, there was communication with the Muggle Prime Minister, but other than that, they liked to stay hidden, out of sight and out of mind. It was just as they had always done, and it as they would continue to do.

So when the news broke out of a growing epidemic taking place across the ocean in North America, no one thought anything of it. The Muggles could deal with their own problems, they all agreed. No sense panicking over a disease they could cure easily. They then went on their business as usual.

That, it turned out, was not the case at all.

From that one outbreak, came several more outbreaks, and it spread and spread and _spread _until there was nothing in its path. It moved across the ocean, and spread like wildfire inland. It was breaking even Wizarding headlines at this point. Two months in, and it was now a pandemic, and_ very_ bad news. Wizards and witches of Muggle heritage were now travelling by the hundreds to visit their relatives.

Perhaps that was when the Wizarding population began to fall as well?

It only takes one person to touch another; one infected person to touch a clean one, and it's transmitted. Take that, and multiply it by who knows how many times, and there's nothing that can be done anymore.

By then, St. Mungo's was overflowing. Healers were working overtime, fear was being spread like a secondary disease, and people just kept dying and dying and dying.

And where was the government in this time of need? Completely and utterly helpless.

"Sir, there's a horde of reporters outside the building!"

"The healers want to be paid overtime!"

"—sign this so we can get them off our backs?"

"Mr. Kingsley!"

The harried man managed to keep the composure he was so known for.

"Please direct all documents to my secretary," he instructed. "Mr. Hille, could you organize a conference for all reporters sometime when I'm free? And Mr. Jerome, let the head healer know that I'm working out a schedule and corresponding paycheque for them."

The small crowd surrounding him dissipated, and he slipped into the office with ease.

"Hard day?" Arthur asked sympathetically.

"Always," Kingsley sighed. He coughed lightly to the side, wincing as he rubbed his throat.

"Don't overwork yourself now," Arthur scolded. "It won't do us any good if the Minister becomes sick."

Kingsley offered a wan smile. "I'll try my best."

He glanced at the clock ticking in the room, then let out a short, glum sigh. "Better get to work then, I guess."

Arthur stood to see him to the door. It took only a moment, but it only needed a moment.

He sat back down, and glanced at his own formidable paperwork.

"I better get going too," he murmured to himself. He grabbed the first sheet of paper on the list, and then started looking over it, occasionally making a quick mark when needed. And so it occupied his attention until night fell.

Arthur haphazardly shoved his things into a briefcase before flooing home.

It wasn't until the next morning that he realized something was wrong. He swallowed thickly, but was unable to do so without pain shooting up his throat. It was rather hot inside as well, for some reason, and it was a bit hard to breathe.

Oh dear, he thought.

He sat up, managing to keep his focus from sheer will alone. He walked, albeit dazedly, to the bathroom, taking in his haggard appearance.

It wasn't that bad, he decided.

He finished up his morning routine and headed downstairs for breakfast.

"Morning Mollywobbles," he said cheerfully.

He watched as she flushed bright red, like she always did. She walked stiffly over to the table and set the plate down without looking at him. Then she sat down with her own plate.

Their table was rather lonely with all their children out of the house, but for now, he savoured his time alone with her. They finished their meal contently, yet the entire time, he could feel her concerned gaze on him.

"What is it?" he asked. "Have I got something on my face?"

"No," she said absently. "You're looking a bit peaky today. Why don't you take a rest for today? I can fire call for you."

"It's fine," he reassured. "I didn't get enough sleep last night, is all."

"If you're sure…"

"I am," he said. He leaned over to kiss her on the cheek, before heading off to work.

The first thing he noticed was that Kingsley was absent.

"He's got it, you know," people whispered in the hallways. "Swine flu."

Arthur dazed walked into his own office. Kingsley had been just fine yesterday. There had been nothing to indicate he was—wait. He had a sore throat.

He rubbed his own anxiously in response.

He was_ fine_, Arthur repeatedly firmly to himself. There was absolutely nothing wrong.

But oh, how wrong he was.

He shouldered through the day, but the next after that was a lost cause. His fever, by then, had reached terrible heights. He didn't even realize when he was emergency apparated to the hospital for treatment.

Molly followed after them, white faced and tense.

"Were there any symptoms you noticed earlier, Ms. Weasley?"

"I— he had a sore throat, I think. And a bit of a fever," she whispered. "Oh Merlin, please don't tell me it's—"

The healer paused, then gave her a pitying look.

"This is a mild case, right? He can recover here, can't he?"

The silence was all the answer she needed.

Molly stumbled back, sitting heavily in the chair. "I should've known," she mumbled. "I should've gotten him to stay home, go to the hospital… _something_."

"He's got pneumonia now," the healer said. "The rates… aren't nice."

Molly stared down at her trembling hands.

"Do you have a fire call station I could borrow?" she finally said.

"Of course."

She methodically went through the motions of calling everyone in the family. After that was over and done with, she wandered over to Kingsley to chat with him for a bit, before drifting back to Arthur's bed. She settled into the chair beside his bed, and watched him until she dozed off.

She was shaken awake by Ron. She silently watched as he said words to her, but they barely registered in her mind.

Kingsley was on the road to recovery.

Arthur would never come back.

She let herself be led back home, back through the front door, back through the kitchen where the dishes from yesterday morning still sat, unwashed, in the sink.


End file.
